BURN, BABY, BURN

by Jake Barton

  The wind was a problem, for fuck’s sake. If a bit of wind were a problem, how would he describe his present situation? Tied hand and foot, alone and forgotten, two of his fingers chopped off? He’d felt better, that was for sure.

  He heard the soft approach of footsteps and froze into immobility. The man’s familiar shape appeared from beyond the crumbling brickwork of the warehouse wall. He had a couple of bulging Marks and Spencer carrier bags in his left hand. Black jeans, dark blue sweatshirt with full-length sleeves and Nike trainers. Thin surgical gloves covering his hands.

  "Still with us, then?"

  The man came closer, removing a folded clear polythene sheet from the carrier bag and spreading it in the ground. Kneeling on the sheet, alongside Alex, he stretched out a gloved hand and touched the other man on his right temple.

  "I don’t need you any more," he said.

  Alex turned his head away, aware from the manner in which the words were spoken that his imminent release was not an option. The thought crystallised into certainty when he turned his head back and saw the knife. The blade was very slim and at least seven inches long, a deep groove running along the mid-section, with a rubber grip, shaped for comfort and maximum grip.

  Marcus leant over, blocking out the sky. He brought the knife into view, smiling, his perfect teeth flashing.

  Alex immediately became conscious of the deficiencies in his own dental care and the incongruity of the thought, at this time of greatest danger, forced a wild bark of laughter from between his cracked lips. The other man frowned and placed the point of the knife on Alex’s bony chest.

  "Look at me," he said. Alex screwed his eyes tightly shut. "Look at me." The voice was louder now, more insistent. Alex smiled, keeping his eyes closed.

  "Why? What will you do if I don’t? Kill me?" The false courage lifted his spirits for the first time since his incarceration began. The feeling of elation ended in an instant of unimagined agony as the point of the knife was thrust violently into his right eye. Alex screamed – the pain was unimaginable. Marcus reached into the bag once more and removed a pair of pliers, big ones with orange handles. Seizing Alex’s right hand tightly, he reached across with the pliers and casually ripped off a fingernail.

  Alex, beyond pain, hardly flinched as Marcus pulled his fingernails out one by one. Marcus stood, looking at his handiwork with an air of satisfaction. He threw two small objects in the dust, then reached down to the other carrier bag and pulled out a plastic container. Alex gagged as the petrol was splashed over his body, screaming with a fresh awareness of pain when the up-turned container was poured over his ravaged face. Blood streamed down his cheek, the area around his eye socket visibly swelling. His wide-open mouth had split at either side with the effort of screaming out his agony.

  Marcus savoured the delicious moments, and then captured the event on film with a small digital camera. He’d have plenty of time to enjoy it later. He reached down to the squirming figure before him, the knife in his right hand. He smiled as the thrashing figure became still at the first penetration, the single eye widening at this new and unexpected terror. Marcus leaned in close and watched Alex die, enjoying the frantic gasping of his final moments with a rare feeling of ecstasy.

  Removing a towel from one of the carrier bags, Marcus wiped the speckles of blood from his face. He stood on the plastic sheet and carefully removed his outer clothing, which he placed, together with the towel, in the empty bag. Apparently impervious to the biting chill of the wind, he stood in just a pair of black briefs while removing a change of clothing from the other bag.

  Ignoring the body alongside him, he dressed himself in a thick navy-blue sweater, denim jeans and a pair of scuffed and worn Timberland boots over which he carefully tied two empty carrier bags, securing them at the ankle to avoid leaving footprints at the scene. He removed the plastic sheet from the ground, carefully folding it in on itself to avoid any contact with his clothing, and placed the sheet in a bag with the other items. Rising to his feet, he collected his plastic bags and walked a few paces away, the carrier bags swinging to and fro in the wind. He reached into his pocket for a box of matches. He struck a match and tossed it at the petrol-soaked body. The instantaneous flash of flame forced a broad smile to his lips. He placed a clear plastic bag under the shadow of a stone and walked away.

  When he reached the top of the bank, he stopped and looked backwards. The body was burning fiercely, but remained out of sight from any other vantage point, deep in the shadow of the building.

  ~ Chapter 13 ~

  If Donna lay in bed much longer the day would start without her. She discarded the top sheet, leaving her duvet on the floor where she’d thrown it at some time during the night. She’d cuddled up with Gary for a couple of hours on arriving home, but found sleep difficult.

  They’d made love and she’d no complaints about that; it was the close proximity of another body that was unsettling. Out of practise perhaps. Whatever the reason, Donna had crept away after Gary went to sleep and sought the familiar comfort of her own bed.

  She got up and stretched. The sun was shining and the threatening clouds had blown over. On a day like this, she should have felt great, but didn’t. Just used-up and wasted, her bloated tongue feeling too big for her mouth. Donna hugged herself, arms clenched tight around her chest, swaying slightly, like a sapling in a strong breeze. Eyes clamped shut, as if shutting out reality, choosing instead the dark sanctuary of pain.

  Donna knew what the problem was. Kate Davies with her casual references to murder and rape, the hideous terrors contained in the video tape sent to Gary, and her own fears for the safety of Paula Dobson and her daughter. It brought back memories of bad times she’d tried to banish forever. The creaking sound of her father’s body swaying gently as it hung from the rope thrown over a beam. The time she’d spent as an inpatient in the trauma ward of that ever so discreet clinic. Nights and early mornings had been the worst times then and she’d hoped those times would never return.

  When she was with Gary, she felt safe. His strong arms wrapped around her were her comfort blanket. She was falling for him. Big time. Did he know that? Did he feel the same way about her? Plenty of questions, but no answers. Meanwhile, there was Paula and Celine Dobson to worry about. That put her own pathetic concerns into context. Her dad’s death, the manner of it, would always be part of her. No getting away from it.

  She’d tried moving on. Easier said than done.

  Now, there was a fresh complication in her life. Gary Rudd. She’d only known him five minutes and here she was mooning around like a teenager. God, he was lovely though. Donna shook her head and let out a snort of stifled laughter.

  Who’d have thought a week ago she’d be in a state like this?

  She had a long shower, brushed her teeth and went into the kitchen. Peg was at the sink, scrubbing away at some recalcitrant speck of grease on her best frying pan. She turned as Donna came in, looked at her, and came straight over, throwing her bony arms around her and hugging her until Donna burst into tears. Peg shook her wise old head and put the kettle on. A good cup of tea was called for.

  "You want to stop filling your head with all those memories and start living," Peg said, spooning loose Yorkshire tea into the pot. Tea bags were the spawn of the devil. "Now you’re getting a bit of what does you good from that young man." Donna blinked. "Did you think I didn’t know you pair have been breaking the springs of my best sofa?"

  Donna didn’t know what to say, feeling as if she were thirteen again.

  Peg ruffled the tufts of her hair. "Wouldn’t you be more comfortable in your bed than my poor old settee? I know what I’d prefer if I ever got that lucky again."

  Donna burst out laughing, taking the proffered mug of tea. They sat close together, like two sparrows on a telephone line, and had a real no holds barred girlie chat. When Gary put his head round the door, Peg nudged Donna hard enough to break a rib and she blushed like a schoolgirl as they both burst out laughing. Gar
y looked at them as if they were demented and went off to the bathroom.

  They had breakfast together as a family. Peg served up massive plates of bacon, sausage, beans, mushrooms and fried bread. Donna ate the lot, grease running down her chin, and sat back in her chair while Gary washed up. I could get used to this, she thought.

  "I’ll have to get a move on," Peg said, getting to her feet and checking the standard of Gary's washing-up with a sideways glance. "I’ve got some errands to run for that woman in Banks Road, her with the lips and the brother that forgets things. Penile something?"

  "Senile dementia." Donna corrected as Gary had a choking fit.

  "That’s it. Are you all right Gary? Something gone down the wrong way?" Gary shook his head faintly, not trusting himself to speak.

  "Missed you this morning," Gary said when Peg had gone. Donna nodded and held his hand tightly.

  "Why don’t you move into my bedroom tonight?" Donna asked, feeling bold. "Be a lot more comfortable."

  Gary smiled broadly. "Peg knows about our assignation then?" Donna nodded gravely, and then burst out laughing as he crinkled his eyes suggestively.

  Donna got to Meols Drive at last and walked slowly down the hall. Dexter had told her last night that he’d spoken to Abbott and left his former colleague in no doubt that R and D Security still intended to serve the interests of their client and would not accept being banned from the house. Abbott had agreed to allow access, limited only by whether Superintendent Hawkes was in attendance.

  Dobson looked awful. He’d obviously not slept at all and appeared to have aged ten years overnight. Dexter and Abbott were already there, perched like garden gnomes at either end of the huge settee. Dexter was asking about the search areas already covered and making a few pertinent suggestions. Both men looked up and smiled as Donna entered. Everybody loves me this morning, she thought. Even Dobson managed a faint smile. Donna sat on a hard chair and blended into the furniture, leaving the talk to the real professionals.

  Dobson had been quiet, almost as if he were asleep, and it was a surprise when he was first to react when the ‘phone rang in the hall. Abbott followed him out, ready to switch on the tape recorder. They were away a good few minutes and when Dobson returned, his eyes were red and sore. Dexter looked up and Abbott nodded grimly.

  "Got it on tape," he said. He replayed the tape and Dobson wept as the voice, clearly not the same man as on the previous occasion, wished him good day and wondered if he’d mislaid anything of value.

  They all jumped as the telephone rang again, and Dobson rushed out, only to return moments later. "For you," Dobson said, gesturing to Abbott.

  When Abbott returned, his face was grave. "Something’s come up," he said, giving a brief glance in Dexter’s direction. If it was meant to be subtle it missed the mark. Donna saw the glance and she wasn’t the only one. Dobson stood up. "If you’ve anything to say, I’d rather hear it now," he said.

  Abbott hesitated a moment. "They’ve found Alex Melia."

  Dobson started forward. "Celine?" he asked, his voice on the edge of hysteria. He didn’t ask about his wife.

  Abbott shook his head. "Just Melia, or what’s left of him. Has every indication of a drug-related punishment killing. God knows, we see enough of them these days."

  "What does that mean? For Celine, I mean?"

  Abbott shook his head again. "I can’t say at this stage. We still have no idea where she is being held. It rather looks like Melia used the ransom to buy drugs. Probably trying to build himself up into one of the big boys and crossed into someone else’s territory."

  He went quiet, perhaps realising he’d already said too much. Dexter went with him into the hall and shortly after they heard the door slam behind him. Dobson was crying openly and Donna felt helpless in the face of such grief, but restrained the urge to go to him.

  Dexter came back into the kitchen and went straight over to Dobson, whispering into the other man’s ear. His sobs died away and he sat down in the hard wooden chair, burying his head in his hands.

  "It’s not a dead end," said Dexter. "Not by any means. The police will be already working on all Alex Melia’s known habitats, looking for likely places where he could have hidden them. I didn’t say anything while Abbott was here for obvious reasons, but Donna has a feeling about this case, a feeling I share to some extent, and we’ll be following up leads on our own account."

  Dobson’s eyes swivelled in Donna’s direction, making her feel awkward, hoping he wouldn’t ask her to be more specific about these mysterious feelings.

  "If it’s a question of money," Dobson blurted out. "Spend what you need. All I want is for Celine to come home safely." Dexter nodded. Money didn’t come into it. The firm had already received a large advance upfront, but money was perhaps the only thing that Dobson felt able to contribute. Dexter made excuses for Donna and himself and they left the house together.

  "What now?" Donna asked.

  "Off to sunny Bootle. I’ve fixed up with Abbott to view the place where they found the body. It’ll mean keeping out of the way, especially if Superintendent Hawkes is about, but it’s something I think we should see."

  *****

  The two voice experts cringed as Hawkes gave them his considered opinion on the value of so-called experts in general and themselves in particular. The brief tape had been played a dozen times, but results were inconclusive.

  "I think it’s the same man," the taller man said, speaking slowly and reflectively. "I got an impression, somehow, something about him, a feeling of menace. The accent was obviously very different, but I got the same feeling on both occasions."

  His colleague snorted. "I cannot accept this voice belongs to the same man. There is no factor common to the two tapes. None whatsoever. It would require a formidable level of expertise, far removed from any criminal of my acquaintance, for a single person to have produced such different accents. There would be more similarities between you and I than are evident between these two tapes."

  *****

  The police surgeon arrived as Dexter and Donna were getting out of the car. He exchanged nods with Dexter who followed him up a steep bank to a depression behind a run-down warehouse, Donna trailing in their wake to where the Crime Scene Investigators were well into their work, three of them in shapeless navy-blue coveralls. On hands and knees, one eye on the ground and the other on the approaching storm clouds.

  "Make it quick, but do it fucking right." That was Abbott, very much to the point. He and Marriott stood outside a flapping canvas screen around the body. Dexter went down the bank to look for himself, but Donna took one look and stayed away, concentrating on trying to retain the greasy breakfast she’d put away earlier.

  A few minutes later Dexter joined her and they walked back to the car. "Not a big job for his nibs," Dexter said, indicating the police surgeon crouching alongside the body. "Cause of death seems pretty obvious and there'll be no problem certifying life extinct."

  From her own brief glance, Donna had seen that the face and body of what had been a living breathing man until a few hours previously were burnt and unrecognisable. The hands, being wrapped in plastic bags were swollen and bloated by fire, but still revealed the cruel constriction of wire restraints. Dexter told her that a dog-eared students’ union card under a stone identified the man as Alex Melia. A small quantity of heroin had also been left under the stone. The chief suspect in Celine’s kidnapping, as far as the police enquiry was concerned, was now a charred corpse.

  "Anonymous call means he was intended to be found," Dexter said. "Either it’s a drug hit like Abbott said, or some bastard’s playing games with us." He moved away to talk to Abbott, leaving Donna by the car. She watched the two men walk back up towards the body and speak to the police surgeon. When Dexter came back he was smiling.

  "Two fingers missing from the body. Interesting. That casts a fair amount of doubt on the fingerprint evidence, to say the least. Abbott will pass it on. Might even be enough to persuade tho
se blinkered bastards to start looking elsewhere for a suspect. Cast their net a little wider perhaps, but I’ll not be holding my breath." Dexter looked at Donna as she took a deep breath. "Forget it," he said. "Marcus Green is not even in the frame. I mentioned him to Abbott, but apart from skipping out on his bail, there’s nothing to suggest he had a hand in any of this."

  "It’s him. I know it is."

  "Evidence, Donna, remember. That’s what they need before we can convince the top brass to look at Marcus Green. Skipping bail is no big deal. No evidence to link him with this enquiry, end of story. Simple as that. I’ve asked if they’ll get Edwards, that’s him over by the body, to do a full inquest, not just the usual quick in and out job, and Abbott has given it the go-ahead. Edwards is a funny old bugger in some ways, but he’s the best of the bunch. If there’s anything out of the ordinary here, he’ll find it."

  "What are you expecting?"

  Dexter shrugged. "You’re not the only one who has hunches," he said, getting into the passenger seat and waiting for Donna to join him.

  *****

  Kate was as they’d last seen her, hunched in front of a computer screen.

  "What about where Alex Melia’s body was found? What can you tell me so far?"

  Dexter pursed his lips. "First impressions seem to support the theory that he was killed where he was found, so that’s something. If he was killed where we found him, a proper grid search of the area is crucial. Abbott’s pretty good on the details, but it’s always a tricky call."

  Donna knew about this. Dexter had explained it on the way back from Bootle. The grid search was a classic dilemma. Where to draw the line? Too narrow a circle and you could miss something vital; too wide and risk including too much extraneous material – debris and other stuff with no connection to the crime. Easy to be misled.